


dripping on the floor

by cherryliqueur



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Begging, Coming on Her, Doggy Style, Dominance, F/M, Fingerfucking, Infidelity, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Revenge, Riverdale - Season 3, Rough Sex, Submission, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 02:15:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16845184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryliqueur/pseuds/cherryliqueur
Summary: Cheryl is alone and watching Pop's for Veronica one night when FP strolls in, and he lets her know that he still hasn't forgotten about the milkshake incident.





	dripping on the floor

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill for the [Riverdale Kinkmeme](https://riverdale-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1356.html?thread=510796#cmt510796).
> 
> "FP gets back at Cheryl for her stunt with the milkshake. He'll make her wipe his come off her face the way he wiped her brother's blood off the floor, but first he's going to fuck her senseless."

“You know, Veronica,” Cheryl sighs, leaning her hip against one of the tables as she glances around the vacant space of Pop’s, “when you twisted my arm into watching the diner for a bit, I thought I was signing up for a few _minutes_. Not an entire _hour_ by myself, staring at empty tables.” She sets her hand down, drums her nails atop the table. “Honestly, what am I supposed to be doing? This place is a ghost town, and I’m not some maid service at your beck and call.”

The girl laughs over the line. “You know, you should be _thankful_ that it’s deserted in there because of the storm. Less work.” Cheryl rolls her eyes. “ _No_ _work_ at all, actually, so why don’t you make yourself a milkshake on me? Indulge in a piece of pie, eat as many cherries as you want. I owe you big time.”

Cheryl blows out a breath. “You absolutely do. This is the last time I’m babysitting for you, so you better enjoy your R&R.”

“I owe you,” Veronica repeats, sounding entirely too amused for Cheryl’s liking. Despite this, though, her lips pull into a smile. It’s a testament of how well the girl knows her to not be bothered by her bitchiness; and, really, there is no chance of talking Cheryl into anything she genuinely doesn’t want to do. She knows Veronica has needed a night off, and, with Toni holed up with Jughead to work on a photography assignment for the rest of the evening, she had some free time. “But seriously, Cheryl, if this is too much then say so. I’ll come right back.”

“You’re making it really hard to be mad with you,” Cheryl huffs out. “ _Stay_ _._ Enjoy your massage. I can handle things here for a little while. It’s _me_ , after all.”

She hangs up with another laugh and a thank you from Veronica and leans off of the table, heading behind the counter. _Might as well take that offer for a free milkshake_ , she thinks, grinning as she pulls up a playlist on her phone to listen to rather than the downpour going on outside. It’s the slower one, full of sultry voices and jazzy instrumentals, because she’s listened to nothing but fluffy pop and electronic beats while choreographing the Vixens’ new routines this week and she decides she needs a change of pace.

She hums as she flits around behind the counter, gathering the ingredients and throwing them into a blender, and she can’t help but giggle to herself as she pours her milkshake into a glass and swirls a little extra whipped cream on top. She’s been practicing hard, pushing herself just as long as she does her Vixens; she’s earned this, and she’s definitely earned the two spoonful’s of chocolate sprinkles and three cherries she plops on top. She picks a fourth out of the tub by its stem and catches it between her teeth, and she’s just popped it into her mouth when the doors to Pop’s chime open, making her jump.

FP.

His head is cast downward as he shakes out his hair, but she doesn’t have to see his face to know that it’s him. It’s hard not to recognize the arrogant stride to his walk, the signature scruff along his jaw, which is wet from the rain as he rubs his fingers through it to wipe off some of the excess water. She’s gnawing on the cherry in her mouth as he lifts his head, wet clumps of his hair falling over his eyes, and his jaw ticks up in that smirk she’s always loved a little too much.

“Cheryl.” He walks over and perches himself on top of a barstool, his gaze sliding down her body behind the counter and back up: from her over-the-knee velvet boots, to her tight little burgundy shorts, and her fitted Pop’s Diner tee. (She’s never, not once, worn a waitress uniform anytime she and Toni have found themselves lending a hand to Veronica, so she’s sure to have a change of clothes in the office just in case. It’s certainly helped with the tipping factor.) “I’m guessing Veronica roped you into helping her out?”

His knowing tone makes her mouth twitch, and she narrows her eyes a little. “Actually, I booked her a few hours at the spa _myself_ , so she could rest.” She reaches behind the counter for a straw and peels it from the wrapper, sticking it into her milkshake. FP’s smirk widens only a little, but she catches it all the same; she arches an eyebrow at him, her voice sweet and sharp even to her own ears as she asks, “Is there anything I can get you?”

He reaches out and snatches her milkshake before she can barely blink. “Nah, this’ll do just fine,” he replies, then wraps his lips around the straw and takes a sip without giving her a second to protest. She scowls, snatching the tub of cherries off of the counter and all but slamming it down behind the counter, out of his reach. He laughs, licking his lips. “Will it always be this easy to rile you?”

“When you insist on acting like a juvenile, it will be,” she retorts with a roll of her eyes.

“Rather ironic, coming from you.” He plucks one of the cherries off of the top of the whipped cream and pops it into his mouth, tossing the stem onto the counter, and then chuckles when she wrinkles her nose at it. “It wasn’t that long ago that you were sitting right over there,” he adds with a jerk of his head toward a section of the tables, gnawing on his cherry, “and you tipped over your beloved milkshake just so I would clean it up.”

He flexes his fingers around the glass in his hand as she narrows her eyes at him a little more. She knows what’s about to happen; FP isn’t being subtle about it, at all, and in the back of her mind, the very childish part he’s talking about can’t help but want for Toni to see this. Her girlfriend has never once said the words out loud, but Toni doesn’t necessarily believe it when Cheryl insists FP is antagonizing her. Or, at the very least, he certainly enjoys to ruffle her feathers. It’s a talent, honestly, that the man has walked into here and riled her up in barely the span of _two minutes_ , and, if she wasn’t so annoyed, the bitchy part of her would’ve been impressed.

And she’s convinced it’s that same bitchy part of her - the part that recognizes genuine confidence, no matter how arrogant, and can’t help crave he taste of it - is the reason why she’s all but holding her breath as he slides the milkshakes over his edge of the counter and onto the floor with a shatter. She feels her pulse thrumming, her breaths shallow and uneven, and she refused - _refuses_ \- to believe that the feeling coursing through her veins is anything akin to attraction. She should be _pissed_ right now.

She should not be aroused.

FP raises his eyebrows, simply staring back at her, and she hates how easily she relents. Arrogant asshole or not, he’s still someone Toni looks up to. Toni respects him, and she bites her tongue and complies because she’s a Serpent now, and she wants Toni to know that she takes this and their relationship seriously. So, with a huff and another roll of her eyes, she grabs a wet rag and a dustpan and walks out from behind the counter

She sinks to her knees, using the rag to pick out the glass through the frothy pile of milkshake and toss them into the dustpan, and she’s stubbornly trying not to look anywhere near FP’s boots as he slides off of the barstool and onto his feet in front of her. She sets her jaw, then eases it open with a sharp exhale - but then she parts her lips wider in a gasp when she feels his hand suddenly grasp at her hair, twisting it in his fingers as he yanks her head up to look at him.

“What do you _think_ \--” she starts to growl, beginning to get up, but he tugs down harder and she actually mewls out as he forces her down harder onto her knees. Her head it still angled toward him, and she sees his eyes sparkle in something a little bit like amusement, only a little bit darker, a little bit hazier in arousal; there’s no denying that’s what she’s seeing. “Unhand me!”

“Always so dramatic,” he drawls, tugging her up, and she very nearly trips over her own feet as he leads her to a table and shoves her against it, the edge digging into ass as he presses his thigh between her legs to pin her in place. She grasps his wrist with both of her hands with a frustrated hiss, but she can’t get him to budge; the worst part? He’s watching her with a lazy and all-too- _knowing_ smile as she squirms, rubbing the front of her shorts against his leg with the motion. She can feel it pressing against her folds, dragging, creating delicious friction, and she doesn’t quite realize that her breaths have grown heavier until he leans in close and forces her to bend back to hold his stare, all but straddling his leg.

She swallows, hard, and gives another useless tug at his wrist.

“Get _off_ ,” she says between clenched teeth, but her voice sounds a little too thin to be convincing. A little too _needy_.

“Mm.” He slips his free hand between her and his leg, cupping the front of her shorts, and her lips part as he grinds his hand over her. He yanks her head back a little more, making her spine arch, making her hips roll harder against his palm and making her eyelashes flutter at the rough friction of her shorts against her sex through her damp, lace panties. “I don’t think that’s what you want.”

“I...” She licks her lips, hesitating, and he shoves his hand harder against her and nearly makes her heels slip on the tile with the force. She lets go of his wrist and grasps onto the edge of the table for balance, gripping tightly as she resists the urge to grind against his hand of her own volition. But, _holy hell_ , does she want to do exactly that. She’s wet, and growing wetter, and the rough drag of her shorts with the motion of his hand is driving her _crazy_.

“ _I_ know what I want,” he says, his voice lower, rougher, and hot against her face as he leans in. He smells musky and a little bit sweet from the milkshake and it’s dizzying, being this close and surrounded by his heat and his scent. “I want you on your knees, your hair wrapped around my hand as you suck me off.” He actually loosens his grip at his, slowing his other hand to a stop, and she very nearly rolls her hips at the loss of friction. “I want your face dripping with my cum, and I want you to clean the milkshake off of the floor like you made me do before you can even think about wiping me off of you, too.”

He releases her in a flash, and suddenly she’s being lifted up and thrown down on top of the table, her head hitting against it hard as she tries to get a grasp on herself. He drags her by her hips until her ass is over the edge and yanks her shorts down, chuckling as she tries to kick him away from her, until finally he gets the shorts off from over her boots. He grasps her chin with his fingers, and the gesture is so gentle and unexpected that it’s a little disorienting. She freezes with her body propped up on her elbows and her legs parted, her chest heaving as she gasps for breath.

“Go ahead. Push me off,” he taunts, slowly grasping the hem of her shirt with his fingers and starting to push it up her stomach. Giving her time to fight. Giving her a chance to say _no_. She _hates_ that she doesn’t; she simply stares back at him with her eyelids half-closed and her head spinning from the wet tingling between her legs. “No?” He ticks up an eyebrow, challenging, and she knows he’s doing it on purpose, but she can’t fight her impulsive reaction to throw his arrogance right back at him.

She bats his hands away and grasps her shirt, yanking up and over her head and tossing it aside. His smirk widens, and she reaches behind her, unclasping her bra and shrugging it off of her shoulders, tossing that aside, too. Her nipples pebble against the cold air, and her body flinches as he shoves his hand against her stomach and forces her to lay back. She hesitates, wary for a moment; she expected him to drag her onto his knees, maybe rub himself on her breasts before having her suck him off.

Instead, he hooks his fingers under the front of her panties and twists, easily ripping the lace and pulling it off of her. “Those were _designer_ ,” she bites out, even though she knows it will hardly make a difference. He barely blinks, no doubt expecting those very words, and she clenches her jaw in frustration.

“I’d say I’ll replace them, but we both know I won’t.” Kneeling down, he grasps her legs and bends them at the knees, hooking them over her shoulders as his head settles right over her sex, so close that she can feel his breaths fan out over her wetness. _God_ , she’s wet. “Before I paint that pretty face of yours,” he says, giving her thigh a squeeze, “I want nothing more than to hear you _beg_.”

“I’d _never_ ,” she growls, her hands sliding out to grip the table, but he hums and shakes his head.

“Grip your knees.” She blinks, staring back at him, and then flinching when he squeezes her thigh a little harder; a warning. “Grip your knees,” he repeats, and, slowly, she complies, easing her fingers off from the table and setting her palms flat atop her knees. Already, she feels more helpless in this position, as if she’s keeping her legs open _for_ him, and she knows that’s what he wants.

Then he rolls his tongue over her in a broad, flat lick, and she moans, her hips jerking off of the table as she digs her nails into her knees.

He smirks against her before parting his lips and sucking at her roughly, groaning, working her in firm laps, and she can’t quite help the way she grinds against his mouth. It’s subtle at first, her head twisting to press her cheek into the table as she tries to tense her muscles, fighting off her body’s urge to seek friction, to seek _more_. She feels her arousal tightening in her stomach, her wetness dripping between the crack of her ass and onto the table, that’s how turned on she is. How much she loves the thick, hard strokes of his tongue as he licks almost every inch of her cunt. He tips his head, rubs the tip of his nose up against her clit as he delves into her folds, and she grips onto her knees so tightly that she swears she draws blood.

“ _Ah_ ,” she mewls, feeling him lick at her entrance, then deeper, and deeper, until her hips are angling up and she’s practically fucking herself on his tongue.

She feels her orgasm building quickly, _too fucking quickly_ , and FP curls his tongue faster and deeper, finding a spot inside of her that makes her cry every time he licks at it. Every part of her feels flushed with want, aching with need, and she’s so sensitive that it feels as if every hair on his beard that scratches against her thighs, against her _pussy,_ is driving her closer and harder toward her orgasm...

But then he pulls away, yanking his chin from her so abruptly that her vision goes blurry from the sudden loss of stimulation. Her cunt twitches, her hips still gyrating up into the air as her tight grip on her knees goes completely lax. 

Her legs slide down from his shoulders to dangle off of the edge of the table as FP stands up, sets a hand against the table by her stomach to brace himself as he leans over her. Her body jumps when she feels him press two fingers right against her sex, and then he’s rubbing her in slow, tiny, barely there circles, coating his fingertips in her arousal and making her body vibrate at the teasing sensation.

“Toni was right,” FP says, his eyes glinting and his grin smug. “You _do_ get off on fighting with me.”

Cheryl’s eyelashes flutter, her head still spinning as she tries to catch her breath, and it takes a long moment before his words truly hit her. She blinks, sucking in a soft breath, then blowing it back out in a whine when FP’s slides his fingers up to part her. He grazes her clit with middle finger, letting it linger, but just this little tease has her practically trembling atop the table.

“That’s right. She shared that conversation with me.” His grin shifts into a smirk, small but taunting. “Serpents share _everything_ , after all. Not that you’d know anything about being a Serpent.” He drags his fingers down, her spine arching with the movement, and then her lips part open in a silent moan when he slowly pushes two fingers into her. “You may wear our emblem, and you may date one of us, but _you_ , Cheryl, will never be a Serpent. Not until you can learn your place.”

“Last I checked,” she breathes out, her voice shaky and not nearly as defiant as she’s attempting to sound, “you’re not the king anymore.”

“Only in name.” He smirks as he pulls his fingers out of her, and then she’s gasping and arching off of the table as thrusts back in, hard and deep, quickly falling into a brutal pace to fuck her with. Her mouth parts, her eyelids falling half-closed as the wet sounds of his fingers thrusting in and out of her seem to drown out the downpour still coming down in sheets against the windows. “I’m sure if Veronica walked in here, she’d see you writhing for me and even she as an outsider would know who’s still the king here.”

He angles his wrist, fucking her deeper, finding that sweet spot that has her body jerking off of the table with a loud cry from her lips. Her nails scratch uselessly against the surface, needing to find purchase, and then she curls her hands around the edges of the table and her hips grind harder into his hand. She’s gyrating against his hand, trying to fuck in time with him, but his pace is too brutal to keep up with. She feels everything quickly spiraling out from under her again, her arousal pulsing violently in her veins, needing release.

Then she catches FP’s gaze through her blurry vision, catches the slow curve of his lips as she begins to feel his hand slow, her pussy fluttering in protest.

 _No._ Her chest tightens in a pang of panic. 

“Please,” she whimpers, grinding against his hand. He’s still fucking her, but it’s even slower now, nearing leisurely, and she starts to feel her orgasm fade.

He curls his fingers, making her shudder as he finds her g-spot. “Again.”

“ _Please_.”

He brings his thumb up and rubs a circle over her clit, just once and just barely, but she cries out at the stimulation. “ _Again_. So I know how much you want it.”

She whines, squirming as her body vibrates with pleasure under the press of his thumb. He pushes against, rubbing a tiny stroke up and then down, and her pleas are bursting from her lips before she even has the chance to catch her breath: “Please, please, _please_ , please make me come!” His jaw twitches at the corner as he gives her a hard, pointed look, and, with a more desperate tone to her voice, she amends: “Please, may I come?” He curves his hand against her, grinding the heel of it over her clit, and she swears she sees stars. “ _Please,”_ she cries, rolling her hips up, gyrating against his stilled fingers, “please, may I come - _oh_ , god, _please let me come!”_

His wrist jerks against her, his fingers fucking her in earnest again, wildly, brutally, and she lets out a squeal as her spine arches off of the table. He brings his other hand between her legs, circling her clit again, and again, and again, and her orgasm bursts through her so hard that it feels as if it knocks the wind out of her. She cries out, chanting, “please, please, _please_ ,” as waves of pleasure crash over her, making her writhe atop the table, head rolling from side to side. She’s not sure if she wants to roll away from the bruising pace of his fingers or grab his wrist and make sure he never stops.

But he chooses for her, instead, ripping his hand away and making her hump the air as her body trembles under the force of her orgasm. She can’t comprehend anything other than the pleasure, and even then, only barely - but she then she feels herself being grabbed and turned over, her heels slipping from under her as her feet instinctively squirm to regain her balance, and then he’s grabbing her hips and gripping tight as he thrusts into her in one deep, hard, quick stroke. She throws her head back, gasping, wanting to curl away from how thick he feels inside of her, how he’s stretching out and rubbing against her oversensitive walls that are still fluttering in the waves of her orgasm, but he doesn’t let her move an inch as he starts fucking her.

It’s brutal and bruising, even more than his fingers, and her forehead falls against the table as her body shakes and the heat quickly swirls inside of her once more. She hasn’t entirely come - not even close - and already she can feel him fucking her right towards another orgasm. His chest curves over her back as his arm hooks underneath her, pulling her up against him and thrusting into her even faster, even harder. It’s so deep at this angle, so _thick_ , every part of her aches. He groans, grinding her into the edge of the table with every stroke of his cock, and she’s there, she’s _right there_ -

Until he pulls out of her and yanks her down, throwing her onto her knees. Her sex flutters in protest, aching, buzzing right on the edge of her second orgasm as he grasps her hair and yanks her head up. She stares up at him with blurry eyes, watching, dazed, as he wraps his other hand around his cock and starts stroking himself, fast and wet and dirty. He twists her hair in his grip, groaning louder this time, and then she feels the first, warm spurts of his orgasm against her face. Ribbons of cum streak coat her as he strokes himself through his release, his cum painting her cheeks, her lips, her chin. It drips across the bridge of her nose, drips into her mouth, down her neck, into her hair, and, on instinct, she parts her lips and rolls her tongue out to catch some of its salty, warm taste.

She’s so disoriented from her orgasm denial that it feels as if his orgasm lasts entire minutes against her face, until she’s dripping in him. She brings her hand up to try and wipe at it, but he releases his cock and slaps her hand away.

“I don’t think so,” he says, somehow still sounding every bit as commanding and firm even with his voice gravelly and thick from coming. “You heard what I said earlier,” he tells her, letting go of her hair with a jerk, and her gaze cuts to where the milkshake has melted entirely, spreading out against the tile. She whimpers, her body still humming, needing release, but he just smirks. “You want to come again? You’ve got to earn it. That’s what being a Serpent is about.” He reaches down and dips the pad of his thumb through his cum on her cheek, painting a line of it across her lips again before pushing it into her mouth. “Clean that up first,” he commands, nodding at the milkshake, “and if you so much as even try to get yourself off, then we’re waiting right here until Veronica comes back to see you like this. Understood?”

She sits back on her heels, holding his gaze as drips of his cum roll down her neck and between the dip of her breasts. Her fingers twitch, wanting to touch herself, to relieve the throbbing ache of her clit, but the urge quickly dissolves as she peers up at him from underneath her eyelashes.

“Understood.”

\----------

_Also inspired by Cheryl's outfit in Season 2, Episode 2:_

**Author's Note:**

> [come sin with me on tumblr](https://cherryliqueurkinks.tumblr.com/)


End file.
